Lost Lambs
by Channel D
Summary: On December 23, Tim & Tony disappear while on a field assignment. NCIS scrambles to find them. Any loss is painful; one at Christmas is even more tragic. Written for the NFA Secret Santa fic exchange. Drama/adventure in 9 chapters; now complete.
1. Chapter 1

_**Lost Lambs**_

**by channelD**

_written for:_ the 2008 NFA Secret Santa fic exchange

_rated:_ K plus

_genre:_ drama

_setting:_ season 6, but no real spoilers

_disclaimer:_ I own nothing of NCIS

# # #

**Chapter 1**

_December 23, noon_

The windshield wipers slapped their bases harshly before rebounding to combat the fallen snowflakes once again. The slaps were growing steadily louder, a sign that they'd soon have to stop the car and once more break the accumulating ice off the wipers. "Oh, to be in Hawaii now," Tony sighed. It would be his turn to get out and freeze his fingers breaking the ice when they stopped.

"Why did you pass it up?" Tim, the driver, asked, glaring at the messy road. They were going through forests in northern Virginia. Even on this pre-holiday travel day, traffic was minimal due to the relentless sleet and snow that had been falling lightly since midnight…just enough to gum things up. "I thought that was your plan for Christmas this year."

"I decided I'd rather accumulate the leave time. With the double time working on Christmas, that's all the more time to spend in St. Moritz in January."

"St. Moritz. Do you even know how to ski, Tony?"

"You know, that is so really not the point, McGee," Tony said airily. "There will be plenty of lovely ski instructoresses willing to help me out. Unlike your people, from the tundra states. Is it true that your babies are born wearing mittens and skis?"

Tim grinned in spite of the verbal dig. "Actually, Tony, back home it's going to be 62 degrees today. We're getting that warm wave up from Texas. Tomorrow the high will be 65, and 70 on Christmas! My folks are already planning to have Christmas lunch on the patio. I can't wait to get there."

"That's not a white Christmas!

"Yeah. And for once, I don't care!"

"You're flying out tomorrow?"

"Yep. 7 a.m. I'll be walking in the front door by 11, local time. Ahhhhh…" He smiled in bliss.

"Yeah, well, I'll be thinking of you while I scrape ice off my car again and _again_. Speaking of which…it's your turn, I think."

Tim pulled off the road. "No, it isn't. I got out and scraped the ice when we stopped at that service station."

"And you were under the overhang, and protected from the snow."

Angrily, Tim got out. Sometimes it was better not to keep arguing. "All right, I'll do it. Consider this my Christmas present to you."

"What?! This is all you got me??" Tony said, but smiled and turned up the car heater while Tim carefully broke the built-up ice off the wipers.

Back in the car, and taking off his gloves to rub his cold hands, Tim said, "We should try to cut down on our stops. Gibbs said we should try to be back by 3, and we haven't even reached the spot where Darrow and Urban were last seen."

"Why are we supposed to be back by 3? Gibbs find some last-minute pre-holiday work for us, d'ya think?"

"There is no 'us' in that argument, Tony. I am flying _home_ tomorrow, remember? Maybe he's got something cooked for _you_, though."

"Mmmmm…cooked…" Tony sighed in bliss. Secretly he envied Tim's escape to the family, and home cooking. Heating up a small roast for himself on Christmas day wouldn't be the same. "Well, how should I know what he's thinking?"

# # #

At that moment, back at NCIS, Gibbs was concentrating on the possible case against seamen Joshua Darrow and Charles Urban. Both young men, not long out of high school, were AWOL from the Navy; both were suspects in a series of burglaries in northern Virginia. Right now there was nothing solid to tie them to the crimes, other than the fact that a witness had seen the Navy emblem on the belt of one of the masked intruders, and both were AWOL from Newport. Finding them, and bringing them in for questioning, was the first step.

Possibly, but only vaguely so at this point, Darrow and Urban might be tied to the case of another seaman, one Roy Jasinski, who was currently in lock-up in Quantico awaiting trial on home invasion. If Jasinksi had any accomplices, he wasn't talking.

Outside the weather was a little dreary, and certainly cold, but he'd heard several comments from NCIS employees that it was nice to have a real white Christmas. It happened so seldom in D.C. There were maybe two, three inches of freshly-fallen snow on the ground, with another couple possible before the slow-moving low pressure system drifted north in the next few days. Just enough to make things cheery-white by day and colorful-sparkling in the glow of Christmas lights at night. Children who'd never seen the beauty of an outdoor Christmas light bulb lightly covered in snow would _ooooo_ and _ahhhh_ tonight.

Vance came by, dropping Christmas candies on everyone's desk. He continued to show that he was a man who loved tradition and holidays. Then again, he was also a family man, who would be flying home to San Diego tomorrow morning. And Gibbs would then be (very reluctantly) in charge of NCIS until Vance's return Sunday evening. Gibbs nodded his thanks to Vance as his boss moved on. If they could get further on the case—if DiNozzo and McGee found the men—then it could sit until the next week, if need be. It had been Vance who suggested in this morning's management briefing that everyone be back at HQ by 3. Gibbs hadn't asked why, but given the weather, he was just as glad. No need to be worrying about his men travelling on slippery roads in the dark.

# # #

"There's the turn-off—McGeek, you went right past it!" Tony gave Tim a light Gibbs-slap.

Tim checked the rearview mirror, saw no one was coming, and backed up to enter the barely-marked road. "Don't hit me while I'm driving, Tony," he chided.

"Sorry. I'll save it for when we get out. Now the house we're looking for is said to be about half a mile down this road…weather-beaten, shabby, wooden fence missing some posts… "

But the house, when they found it, was empty and appeared to have been for some time. There was no mail in the mail box at the road. Tony considered phoning Gibbs, but then decided to wait until they knew what was in the house. Breaking in, they found the house clean, and nearly uninhabited, were it not for some furniture. Someone was away for a long stretch.

"Or maybe not," said Tony to Tim, while picking up a piece of paper from under the kitchen table. "This is an appointment card at the _Hunks and Hunkettes Hair Salon_ for January 12 of next year. How far in advance do you make _your_ beauty parlor appointments, McGlamour?"

"I do walk-ins at the barber's; same as you, Tony," Tim said easily, while wondering how long Tony had been waiting to use _McGlamour_. He bagged the card as possible evidence. "No Darrow or Urban here, though. I think—"

He was cut off by the sound of a car's engine revving. Tony glanced out the door's window. "Hey! Someone's hotwiring _our car!"_ Tony pelted outside, Tim close behind. _Teenagers…!_

"Hey! You! That's government property!" Tony yelled. He came to a dead stop, as did Tim, on seeing the three guns suddenly pointed at them.

"Take it easy," said Tim, as he and Tony held up their hands. "Nobody needs to get hurt." But he had a sinking feeling as he recognized two of the men: Darrow and Urban.

"Shut up," said Urban. "We thought you might come nosing around after us, NCIS. We're just getting the jump on you. Now take your sigs out slowly and toss them toward us."

Tony and Tim complied, and did the same with their cell phones when ordered. The man Darrow scooped up all the items.

"Now turn around," Urban directed.

They did, slowly, wondering if this was _It_. But Urban then directed them to put their hands behind their backs, and the third man swiftly handcuffed their wrists. Next, the men blindfolded them and then shoved them roughly into the back of a van, slamming the door shut. Tony and Tim were silent, listening for clues that could help them escape.

Footsteps moved away, crunching a little on the sleet-mixed snow. After a few minutes a loud whooshing sound was heard. "Aw, man…" Tony sighed.

"What? What was that?"

"A sound big city cops know. They just torched our car."

Tim thought, a little troubled about their NCIS car burning. "Well, it's not like we have to pay for it…"

"That's not it. These guys are eliminating clues that might lead to our whereabouts. It'll make it hard for NCIS to find us."

"Yeah," Tim sighed. "I guess I might be late getting home for Christmas…"

The van engine started up, and the agents were on their way…to _somewhere_…both knowing that they were in serious trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

# # #

It was 2:30 p.m., and Gibbs, who never grew antsy, was antsy. There hadn't been a report from DiNozzo or McGee since they'd left NCIS around 11o'clock that morning. That was way overdue in what he required of his team. They knew that.

So where were they in the case, and what was keeping them from touching base? He didn't want to come off as either too strict or overprotective, but this was starting to get worrisome.

Sighing, he called Tony's line. There was no answer, and after a few rings, the call went to voicemail. Same with Tim's. _Odd…_ He pocketed the phone and got back to work…only to pull it out 10 minutes later and try again, with the same uneasy results.

"Ziva," he called to his Mossad officer team member, "See if you can raise DiNozzo and McGee on the phone. I'm not having any luck."

She frowned. "They are overdue?" But she tried from her phone. "No answer; just ring then voice mail."

Vance came down the stairs to the squad room. "Gibbs! I'm about ready with the you-know-what…can you give me a hand?"

Gibbs hesitated. Ordinarily, he would have pitched in, without a thought. "Director, I would, but…DiNozzo and McGee haven't reported in, and I can't get them on the phone."

"Go after them. Go. You'll miss a great party. But I'll save you some food. Do you like chocolate cake or white? And how about turkey?"

Gibbs was nonplussed at the largesse, and only blinked. "We're missing a party?" Ziva griped as she grabbed her coat, but she was smiling.

"Unfortunately," said Gibbs as he and she left the building. "Vance has been planning this for weeks. Apparently he's gone all out on this, and paying for it all himself. That's why I told DiNozzo and McGee to be back by three."

"Sounds nice," Ziva said. "Better than going out in this weather. And it will be getting dark by the time we get to their destination in Virginia."

"Duck!" Gibbs called on seeing the medical examiner, and beckoned him over.

"Is this where the Director is setting up his not-so-secret party?" said Ducky. "Young Palmer and I have been salivating all morning thinking of it. It reminds me of the time back in Milan when I had encountered a convention of chefs—"

"I need you to do something for me," Gibbs cut him off.

"As long as I can still get something to eat, surely."

Briefly Gibbs explained the situation. "Triangulate. I need to know where their phones are."

"Palmer and I will get right on it. Drive safely."

# # #

Gibbs drove. The snowplows were keeping the highways fairly clear, and well sanded. It was the smaller roads that were a little slippery. Traffic was steady in the mid-afternoon gloom as workers let out early headed for their suburban homes. Ziva kept trying to reach Tony and Tim by phone, and from time to time called Ducky.

"_The location hasn't changed, Ziva,"_ Ducky said to her, peering at the computer as Jimmy typed away at it. _"A rather remote area, it appears."_

Yes, deep in Virginia's forests, and in the general vicinity of where they were looking for Darrow and Urban. It was just after 3 o'clock by the time they reached the area. Ziva tried calling one last time, as they stepped out of the car, guns in hand.

They both started at the sound of the ringing phone, and approached it. When the call to Tony's line went over to voicemail, Ziva called it again to bring back the ringing. They followed the sound a little ways into light woods…

…to the edge of a small lake, and there they paused, with a sharp intake of breath. About 20 feet out from shore, on the ice, was Tony's ringing cell phone.

Gibbs grabbed Ziva's arm as she headed for it. "This can't have been frozen over for more than a few days. The ice won't be thick enough to support your weight. Let me get something." He went back to the car and returned with a length of rose. Making a lasso at one end, he tossed it a few times before encircling the phone, which he then pulled to shore and dropped into an evidence bag. "Someone threw this phone out here," he said gruffly. "Maybe we can find prints on it."

"McGee's phone was triangulated to this location as well," Ziva remarked. "I do not see it, though…wait. Over there…" Swallowing, she pointed off to the side, where there was a hole in the ice.

Gibbs looked where she indicated, and steadied himself. "Not a big enough hole for a person," he declared, "though a phone might have broken through the ice there."

"They are in trouble," Ziva said. "Ambushed, yes?"

"Could be." Gibbs gripped his sig, as if that would be of any help at the moment. _They're in trouble, all right. Please, God; let them still be alive._ "That suspect house—it's not more than a couple of miles from here. Let's check that out, and if it turns up with nothing, then we'll call in reinforcements."

# # #

In about 15 minutes, they were driving down the same stretch of lonely road that had been mapped out for Tony and Tim. Rounding a corner, there was the old house. Gibbs stopped the car abruptly and swore.

They both got out and looked at the burned wreck that had once been a Dodge Charger, circling it warily. Ziva began snapping pictures with her cell phone camera. Gibbs carefully scraped away soot from the license plate with a gloved hand. "It's the car they were using," he said, his voice catching.

Ziva blinked several times to keep the water in her eyes. "No…no sign of a body inside," she said. "Why burn the vehicle, then?"

"To send a message to us," said Gibbs, pulling out his phone. "To taunt us. To show that we're dealing with violent criminals. Not just run-of-the-mill burglars."

"We should check the house."

"I doubt we'll find anything there, but yes. And then I'll call for back-up."

# # #

The Christmas party was in full swing at NCIS. In the squad room, strings of colored lights shone in the tall windows and the food was eagerly consumed. Someone had a Mannheim Steamroller Christmas CD playing. When his phone rang, Vance stepped outside the noisy center to take the call.

A minute later he was back inside, and waved for silence. "All agents: Listen up. We have two agents missing: Tony DiNozzo and Tim McGee. Foul play is suspected. I need as many of you as can to get down to Virginia, stat. Time is everything if we're going to find them and rescue them."

A man pulled him aside. "Director, I would go, but I promised the wife—"

Vance looked at him coldly. "It's only December 23, Parsons. Not Christmas Eve yet. And I know you're working tomorrow."

The man nodded glumly. In the end only two people with good reasons were let off. The others headed for the NCIS garage and then Virginia.

Vance turned toward Ducky and Jimmy. "You two don't have to hang around."

"I would only worry at home, wondering what has happened to Tony and Timothy," Ducky responded. "If it's all the same to you, Director, I'll wait here for news. Maybe I can be of some help." Jimmy nodded.

"Fine. Maybe you can be. Their car will be towed back here…it was torched. Maybe you can examine it for clues."

"I'm no Abby, but Palmer and I will do what we can."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

# # #

_I think I saw ol' Santa through my window Christmas Eve!  
__My eyes were really droopy, but I really do believe  
__It must have been ol' Santa 'cause I saw his big red hat,  
__And I know my mom and dad can't fly like that! Oh, no…  
__I know my mom and dad can't fly like that!_

While overhead the PA played New Orleans-native Harry Connick Jr.'s Christmas song, Abby sat restlessly in a plane that was bound, supposedly, for New Orleans. It was now 1 o'clock and she had been in that seat for over two hours, sitting on the tarmac at Dulles airport in Washington. _Whack! Whack! Whack!_ went the loud, pressurized stream of chemicals as the de-icing truck once again came to her side of the plane and a man on a cherry picker aimed at the plane wing. All she could see out the window was steam and whatever combination of glycols was being used to break off the ice. This was the third time the plane had been deiced. Due to the increasing backlogs of flights waiting to go, it had missed the first two take-off windows and so had had to get back in line for another deicing.

Abby was feeling the same frustration as the other passengers. She wanted to get _going_; get home to her family. Home to the beautiful variety of accents of New Orleans; to warm weather and great food and all the memories of her youth. Jambalaya was the family's traditional Christmas Eve dish. A big, juicy ham would do on Christmas day itself. She grinned to think of the Christmas lights on the houses; lights that would never twinkle in snow as they did here in Washington this year. No snow to plow or ice to scrape. Just comforting warmth…

The deicing stopped, and the plane started to move. Excitement rose among the passengers. Maybe they'd take off at last. But then the PA system's music stopped, and the captain came on and said, _"Ladies and gentlemen, I sincerely regret to inform you that due to lengthy delays caused by the weather and the air traffic on the Eastern seaboard, a decision has been made to cancel this flight…"_

She could hardly hear the rest over the groans of the other passengers. Of course the airline would be offering assistance in rebooking. Fat chance, though, in getting to New Orleans before Christmas. Some people were openly considering flying to Atlanta or Memphis (if any flights could be found) and driving. Abby, though, made a snap decision, painful though it was: she'd postpone her trip home until January or February. No sense spending hours now waiting for a flight that wasn't likely to happen.

When the plane was docked back at the jetway, she straightened the Santa cap on her head, grabbed her garment bag (thankful that she had no checked luggage; she'd shipped her presents to her parents' house weeks ago), and walked off the plane into the terminal. After phoning a cousin to tell her parents about the change in plans, and to tell them that she'd call them tonight, she wondered, _What to do now?_

The first priority, she decided, was to enjoy the holiday for what it was, even if she couldn't be home. She took notice, for the first time, of the terminal's holiday decorations. Enormous white snowflakes, glowing artificial trees, giant colored ornaments. She browsed in the little shops, each with its own Christmas music playing. Last-minute deals on Christmas cards. The ones with silver glitter mimicking ice and snow were her favorites. Even if she hadn't grown up with the stuff, she could still love snow at Christmas.

There was certainly more to the holiday than snow, she acknowledged as she enjoyed the contents of the shops. There were holiday candies and cookies and pastries; gumdrops and chocolates and bark; colorful, sweet ribbon candy and candies in red and green and white. Cookies of gingerbread and shortbread and any tradition imaginable, in the shape of snowmen and trees, bells and candles, Santas and angels, sweetly frosted. Endless varieties of hot cocoa mix. Spice mixes for making one's own cider. Books to warm the spirit, as well: no dour crime scenes, but romances, stories of hope and redemption, and dozens of kids' books, as well. Christmas apparel, Christmas jewelry. Well, she had enough of that, herself. She wore a shirt with a skeletal Rudolph, nose still glowing brightly, because she was full of the Christmas spirit.

_Well, what to do with my day, now?_ she thought after a quick lunch. _I can drop my bag off at home and go see a movie, or…_

And then she knew. If she couldn't be with her real family, the next best thing was to be with her NCIS family.

- - - - -

It was approaching 4 o'clock when she entered NCIS, carrying the garment bag and her laptop (having decided to go straight to work). She wanted to touch base with her friends before they left for the day…and also all the hours of work she put in now could be applied to the January or February vacation.

She found the squad room to be abuzz. The Director, looking grim, stood over several tables bearing lots of catered food. _What's up with that?!_ Ducky and Jimmy, likewise appearing solemn, sat at a small table to one side. Abby made a beeline for them, feeling she could get dirt out of them faster.

"Abigail! I expected you to be in the New Orleans sun by now!" Ducky exclaimed.

"It's raining there today," she said. "But a nice, warm rain. My flight was canceled."

"Are you rebooked, then?" Jimmy asked.

"No, I'll go sometime after the first of the year…Where is everybody? Why all the food? And why does everyone here look…?" Her voice trailed off. "Did something happen?" she whispered.

"Tony and Timothy…are missing," said Ducky. "They went on an assignment this morning and didn't come back. All available agents are out searching."

"No…!"

"There's evidence of foul play," Ducky went on. "And speaking of evidence, there will be work for you to do here if you want it, shortly. Their burnt-up car, and one of their cell phones have been recovered and are on the way back here."

"Their burned-up…" Abby fell into Ducky's arms, weeping softly.

"Courage, dear. We'll do everything we can to find them."

"Yes, we will," Abby said, wiping away her tears. "Bring that evidence on. I'll tear it apart, atom by atom."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

# # #

When the van carrying Tony and Tim stopped many miles later, the two agents waited, listening. They knew that, blindfolded and handcuffed as they were, they were in no position to make an attack when the door opened.

Indeed, all they could do was wait. When the rear door opened, "Come on; get out," one of their captors demanded.

"I can't see where I'm going," Tony griped.

The man swore. "All right, hang on. I guess you don't need the blindfolds now. You don't know how we got here."

"By van," Tim quipped as the blindfold was taken off him. For his smart remark he got a hard sock to his jaw.

"I'd headslap you myself if I could, McGeek," Tony hissed angrily. "Don't make them mad!"

"Get in the house," ordered Darrow, pointing a gun.

Tim and Tony got out of the van and glanced around to find themselves still in forest. Virginia had lots of forest land. This house, at least, was better maintained than the shack they'd been at. Smoke rose from the chimney.

"Your country estate?" Tony asked the crooks. They ignored him.

Inside the house was tastefully furnished, with thick carpets, paintings on the wall, antique furniture. And it was warm: the air was scented with wood burning in fireplaces. "Someone else's country estate," Tony then guessed. "Which you intend to loot."

"Eventually. But we have bigger stakes now. You."

"Thanks, but I'm not interested in a second job," said Tony. "My day job keeps me busy enough as it is. But listen; give me your card in case I'm ever laid off. I—"

"Shut up!" cried Darrow, and whacked Tony on the head with his gun. Tony dropped to the floor, on that nice, soft carpet.

# # #

He came to a while later, propped up against a wall in what appeared to be a dining room, still handcuffed. Something was hitting his shoulder. Tim.

"Good; you're awake," Tim said, stopping the nudging with his own shoulder. "There's soup. Eat it while it's still hot."

Before Tony was a small bowl of steaming soup. Since they were handcuffed with their hands in front of them, it was possible, however awkward, to pick up the bowl of soup and drink from it. Tony sniffed it and then drank it eagerly. Good, tangy vegetable soup. The crooks weren't in sight. "How long was I out?"

"Not too long."

"Have they said what they're going to do with us?"

"Nope."

"Why are they feeding us if they're going to kill us?"

"I don't know, but I didn't ask."

"Well, what _do_ you know?!" Tony asked, exasperated. "What were you doing all this time while I was out?? Working on an escape plan, I hope!"

"I tried to defend you," Tim said quietly. "And got beat up in the process. I'm pretty sure that a couple of my ribs got broken."

For the first time, Tony noticed the bruises on Tim's face. "Aw, man…well, what do you _think_ we should do?"

"Hmmm…we don't seem to be in immediate danger. The house is warm, so we're safe from the elements. Let's play it by ear. There's no way of summoning help without phones, anyway."

"It's a house! The owners must have a landline phone somewhere."

Tim shook his head, wincing a little at the pain this caused him. "I heard the guys say that the owners had the phones turned off. They're snowbirds; in Florida for the winter."

Tony swore, and finished the last of his soup. "Well, as long as they keep us fed…"

Looking grim, Tim shook his head. "They want us for something. Bargaining chips."

"We're hostages."

"Right. And you know how NCIS feels about hostages."

# # #

Their captors reappeared about an hour later. Tony looked them over, and then his mind clicked. _Jasinski_. The one in lock-up. That was the connection. _Now, how to play this…_

"Hey! I've gotta go to the can," he announced.

The captors eyed each other. "Take him, Moyers," said the one they'd identified as Darrow.

_Moyers. You've got the smarts, Probie. Work with that. Do you recognize the name?_ Tony wished for telepathy, but he could see that Tim was already thinking. _Good._ As Moyers pulled him to his feet, Tony said, "I can't, uh, do much with these cuffs on."

Darrow sighed. "Unlock the handcuffs. But if you try anything, pal; your buddy here will get a bullet in the brain."

_Wasn't planning on trying anything…yet. Just want to get an idea of where we are. There must be something in here we can use… _"I won't try anything. Scout's honor." He looked serious, and, he hoped, believable_. These are youthful perps. Immortal, they'd consider themselves. Probably with little value for others' lives. Yes, they were probably trigger-happy._

_Bargaining chips. We've got to make sure that they remain convinced that we're worth having around._

"You'd better not. Or there'll be worse than this." Urban gave Tim a hard kick in the ribs, causing Tim to cry out and double over.

Tony winced. "I'm not going to make trouble, man." _Damn. Sorry, McGee._

Darrow waved him away, and the man Moyers, accompanied by Urban, lead Tony to the bathroom. There Moyers unlocked the handcuffs while Urban kept a Glock pointed at Tony. Tony already had them pegged in his mind: _Darrow is the leader; Urban the nasty fighter; Moyers the most timid one (maybe a recruit). What does that make Jasinski, behind bars? If he really is connected to these three, that is._

When Tony was brought back to the dining room, he was made to sit down again next to Tim, and the captors then left the room.

Tony's head still hurt from where he'd been clocked by the Glock earlier. A bottle of Coke was there for each of them, though Tim hadn't touched his. Tony noticed Tim looked pale. "Sorry about that, Probie," Tony whispered. "You okay?"

"I dunno," Tim whispered back. "I feel…sick. Like maybe they did some real damage." He swallowed, and looked down at his feet. "We've got to get out of here, Tony."

"We don't even know where _here_ is."

"We're still in Virginia. We didn't drive long enough to get out of the state."

"But we don't know where in Virginia we are. We can't summon help. Even if we got loose, it's bitter cold outside. And snowing. What could we do?"

"We could wait here until they beat us to death," Tim said without humor. "Although it's warm in here. I'll give it that."

"But you probably want a Diet Coke instead of regular Coke."

"Yeah." Tim smiled a little.

"Moyers. Does that ring any bells?"

Tim sighed. "I'm not a computer, Tony. I've been thinking, but…wait. There was a Moyers, I think, involved in a…nah; that was a different name. I don't remember a Moyers. Were you able to scope out the place while you were up?"

"A bit. There's a window in the bathroom. I don't know if it's sealed for the winter, but that might be one way out."

"Consider it, Tony."

"Oh, no no no. Gibbs would break my neck if I went off without you."

Tim's eyes closed. "I don't think I could…escape very far in my condition. Be realistic, Tony. If you get a chance—go for it."

"Not even going to entertain that wild notion. We stick together. End of sentence."

# # #

When the tow service brought in the burned-out NCIS car, Abby was ready for it. Even the chilly air sweeping in as the garage door opened didn't dampen her resolve. For one fleeting moment, though, she worried about finding human remains in the wreckage—but no; Gibbs would have noticed them if there were any. The fire would not have been hot enough to completely consume a body. She would find other clues in there. She _had_ to.

Clad now in red NCIS-issue coveralls, she waited off to one side while the tow truck lowered the sad hulk of the burned car to the garage floor. Jimmy, wearing identical coveralls, came over to stand beside her. "Just tell me what I can do to help, Abby."

She smiled sadly. "Let's start with the trunk. See if you can pop it open."

He did so, though not without a lot of effort and a crowbar. Nothing stood out. Abby took scrapings of the soot and they talked as they worked.

"A shame about your flight," Jimmy said, moving on to take scrapings from the front seats.

"First time I've missed Christmas with the family since…well, let's see. I was in grad school and a friend talked me into spending Christmas at a ski lodge in Vermont. You know the movie _White Christmas_?"

"Yeah. That must have been cool."

She made a face. "Well, just like in the movie, it was nearly 70 degrees. No snow. And I missed my family. It was a bad decision. Live and learn. But how about you, Jimmy? Shouldn't you be heading for your mother's house right about now?"

He didn't answer for a moment. "No, I'm staying here for Christmas this year. Something different."

"Oh. I suppose it would be. Um, well, listen; I'm here in Washington unexpectedly; I don't know if you have plans for Christmas…"

"Plans? Of course I have plans. Why would I still be here if I didn't have plans…?" Then his shoulders drooped. "I have no plans. I'm all alone. My mother was talked into going on a cruise to the Bahamas with a couple of girlfriends. She planned this months ago. Asked me if I'd mind; even invited me to come along. _That_ would have been strange. At the time, I didn't think I'd mind it. But now that Christmas is here, and I'm alone…"

Abby was so stunned that the evidence bag fell from her hands. "No one should be alone for Christmas."

"Yeah. But don't feel sorry for me," he added hastily. "I'll be okay. I don't want pity. I can work and keep busy."

"I wasn't going to give you pity," Abby said, lying. "I just meant that, well, I was thinking that, because he'd be doing that bachelor thing, I'd invite Tony over for dinner and…" Realizing with horror what she'd just said, she dropped to her knees with her hand over her mouth. "Tony! Tim!"

"It's okay. Don't worry, Abby," Jimmy said, crouching beside her, with a hand on her shoulder. "We're going to find them."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

# # #

It was past 8 when Abby set up her laptop and called her parents. The vidlink would enable them to see each other.

_Little girl. We're so sorry you won't be here with us,_ her father signed.

_But we understand,_ added her mother.

_I miss you, _Abby signed. _I wish there was some way I could be there. But as it is, something's come up here at work and I'm needed._

_Don't you have time off now? I thought you'd be at the movies,_ her father signed, smiling.

_I wish. Two of my co-workers, Tony and Tim, went out on a case and are missing. We're all very worried and are trying to find them. I'm going through evidence._

_Then you are where you are supposed to be, little girl. We will pray for your friends._

_We love you so much, Abby, _her mother signed.

_And I love you, too, _Abby signed, fighting the tears as her hand went near her heart. _I'll try to call again on Christmas Day._

_Good bye, dear, God bless you._

# # #

Gibbs and Ziva returned to NCIS around 9 p.m., tired and wounded in spirit. After checking in with Vance, Gibbs headed for Abby's lab to see what progress she'd made.

She rushed to him as he came in, and let his arms envelop her. Her returning hug was subdued.

"I thought you'd be strolling down Bourbon Street by now," he said.

"It wasn't meant to be. Gibbs…why haven't you found them yet?!"

He held her tighter. "It takes time, Abby. But we'll find them. What'cha got?"

She pulled away and wiped her tears. "Well. First the car. Definitely the one used by Tony and McGee. While most of everything was destroyed by the fire—which, incidentally, was a simple gasoline accelerant—I was able to determine that Tony had been in the passenger seat, and McGee drove. Evidence: from the glove compartment, whose contents weren't entirely incinerated, one Chewy-Dewy Chocolate wrapper—Tony loves that brand."

"But no signs of DiNozzo or McGee themselves."

"No. The fire was so hot it would have destroyed even blood, had there been any. But there's no sign of—" She stopped, and swallowed. "—bone. So thankfully my boys weren't in the car at the time it was bonfired. I'm at a loss to explain why it was burned."

"Same reason a terrorist does what he does. The aim is to create terror. To make us think that they were in the car. To make us afraid."

"Works for me," Abby muttered, rubbing her gloved hands.

"Got anything else, Abbs?"

"Oh, yeah. The phone. Tony's phone; I should say. His prints are all over it, and it still works. But I found someone else's prints on it, too." She retrieved a stored computer file and brought it up on the plasma screen. "One Charles Urban, seaman, USN. Know him?"

"Not as well as I'd like to," said Gibbs, frowning deeply. He pulled out his own phone and requested a BOLO be put out for Urban and Darrow. "Is that it?"

She took the words harshly. "There wasn't much to go on, Gibbs," she said, tears dotting her eyes. "Why aren't you still out there, looking for them?!"

"Because it's late, and I can do more here at the moment. There are two teams still out searching. The rest of us will pick up again at dawn." He gathered her into a hug again. "If you're asking, have I given up, the answer to that is no."

She sniffled. "I know. I know you won't. And I won't either. But you've got to bring me something more to work with."

"I'll try."

"Gibbs—Tim's family is going to be meeting his flight tomorrow morning…"

He winced, and she felt that. "I know. If he hasn't turned up by then, I'll call them." Leaving that painful reminder dangling, he left.

# # #

When Gibbs had gone, Abby continued to work. Despite her having told him that she had nothing more to go on, she was sure that wasn't true. There _must_ be something more. Something small, maybe, but a clue nonetheless. Since she had her garment bag here, there was no real reason why she had to go home. With changes of clothes, her futon to sleep in, and the NCIS showers, she could camp out in NCIS indefinitely…

…and there was no way that she could go home, and miss any updates on her boys…

Around 11:30 p.m. Ducky came in. "I saw that your lights were still on, Abigail. I don't suppose I need try to convince you to go home?"

"I _can't_, Ducky. I just…"

"Yes, dear. I understand."

"Gibbs hasn't gone home, has he?"

"No, and he won't, other than perhaps to grab a change of clothes tomorrow."

"He's like a shepherd, looking after his flock."

"Hmmm, yes. The comparison is apt."

# # #

Ziva was nothing if not practical.

When, arriving back at NCIS just after 9 p.m. Gibbs had told her to go home, she did so. She knew that her hanging around NCIS and fretting would not find Tony and McGee any faster. There were competent teams working through the night on this. A good night's sleep would put her in a better position to continue the search, if need be, in the morning.

As she drove home, thankful that the District's and Maryland's snow plows were doing good work on the mostly-deserted highways, she mulled over the possibilities.

_Tony and McGee are alive, and trapped somewhere._ Doubtful. How could they have become so separated from their cell phones? One team would be scouring the area around the lake where the phones had been found, but this it seemed unlikely that any useful information would be found there.

_They are alive, but being held hostage._ More likely, but why hostage? In the at least seven hours since they had disappeared, there had been no communications with NCIS by hostage-takers.

_They are dead._ Even for one who had seen as many deaths as Ziva had, this was a bitter thought. Unfortunately, it seemed also the most possible outcome. Situation: Tony and McGee had been ambushed, perhaps. Or maybe surprised. Or had come across Darrow and Urban, and had lost out in a gun battle. It happens sometimes to even the best of agents.

One hand wiped away a tear. She did not want to think that her teammates, men who had become her friends, could be dead. But she must accept it as a possibility. And if it turned out to be true, nothing would have greater priority in her life than tracking down their killers.

_Now I sound like something out of a bad action movie._ She laughed harshly. But she knew that it was true: with or without NCIS' sanction, she would see that the killers were held responsible…by the courts or by her own hand.

_Gibbs must feel the same way._

She didn't fault him for staying on at NCIS, even if he didn't go home at all. He thought best there. He could slip off to home any time for a change of clothes. He knew to call her if there was any word at all. Tomorrow, though, she would go into work with a couple changes of clothes for herself, and a sleeping bag. There might be a long stint ahead of them.

Once in her apartment, she undressed and went to bed, setting her alarm for 5. She would sleep soundly, for her mission was clear in her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

# # #

Tim and Tony were given a little more to eat, and then slept uncomfortably, handcuffed as they then were to the legs of a heavy table.

When early morning came—still bleak and snowy—the three captors came in to assess them. After letting them get up, individually, for bathroom breaks, the captors studied them. Darrow, clearly the mastermind, crouched and peered at each of them from several angles before leaving the room, with Urban and Moyers trailing like good little aides. "It'll take me at least three hours to go and get back here with the equipment," Moyers was heard to whine.

The NCIS agents exchanged glances, and shrugged.

Tim looked at his watch. "I should be heading for the airport now. D'you suppose that if I told them I had a flight to catch, they'd let us go?"

Tony gave him a critical look. "You can't go home like that. You look like you've slept in your clothes. What would your parents say?!"

"Ah, you're right. Guess I'd better skip the flight." His look turned grim. They were whistling past the graveyard. How much longer would their captors keep them alive?

"There's nothing to tie these guys to murder," Tony said quietly. "In fact, only Jasinski—assuming he _is_ connected to these three—is suspected of anything violent, and that was only because he was surprised by the home owner at that last burglary and waved his gun."

"But these guys have guns," Tim pointed out. "Just because they haven't used them yet…Maybe they'll just go away and leave us here."

"Oh, that's a cheery thought," said Tony. "When the snowbird homeowner returns in the spring, you and I will just be _a lot_ thinner."

"Gibbs will find us."

"He's pretty close to super-human, Probie, but…"

"He'll have Ziva looking for us, too."

Tony forced a smile. "The two of them together are quite a force. Maybe you're right."

# # #

"'Morning, Gibbs. You were here all night?"

"'Morning, Leon. Yep."

"Any news?"

"I would have called you if there had been."

Vance nodded sadly. "What's your plan?"

"Soon as Ziva gets in and one of the night teams is back, we'll head back out. Shouldn't you be heading for the airport about now?"

"Oh, I'm not leaving here until this is over. I don't abandon my people."

"But your kids are going to be wanting daddy home for Christmas."

Shrugging, Vance looked aside. "They're used to it. I've told my wife I'd get home as soon as I can."

"They get used to it, but it never gets easy, does it?" Gibbs said softly.

"Nope. Not for any of us."

# # #

Ziva came in just after 7. "Did you call McGee's parents?" was her greeting to Gibbs.

"Just got off the phone with them. And apologized for forgetting the time difference."

"How did they take it?"

Gibbs tapped his fingers on his desk. "It's terrible news at anytime, but on Christmas Eve…"

"It must be wrenching. Are they coming out here?"

"All flights are sold out for the next couple of days. Mr. McGee checked online while I talked to his wife. I told them that if there were…results, I would try to pull some strings and get them on a military transport. But no guarantee."

Ziva put on her swoop cap and exchanged her woolen coat for her NCIS jacket. "Let us go be productive, then."

# # #

The night teams hadn't turned up anything. They had sent back photos of the partially-snow-covered tracks that were not the NCIS car that Tony and Tim had used, and Abby would try to make something of them. There were also fingerprints in the abandoned house that Gibbs and Ziva had missed…the night teams had gone over _every_ surface. Even if the prints turned out to belong to Darrow and Urban, though, that wouldn't tell them much. They already were 99% sure that Darrow and Urban were involved in this.

Abby phoned in while Gibbs and Ziva were on the way to Virginia. _"Do you know anyone named Lindsey Moyers? Seaman, USN?"_

"Nope, but I expect you've already run him through the databases, Abbs," Gibbs smiled.

"_Actually, Jimmy did that. Here, I'll put him on."_

"_Hello, Agent Gibbs,"_ said Palmer, sounding a little nervous. _"Lindsey Moyers is stationed out of Norfolk. He's on compassionate leave. Claimed his mother is very sick. I check—his mother died five years ago. Why didn't the Navy check that?"_

"If he had a clean record, they'd likely take it at face value and not check," said Gibbs. "Anything more on him?"

"_Yes. It turns out he's the half-brother of Roy Jasinski, the guy in lock-up."_

"Thanks, Palmer!" Gibbs ended the call, and then phoned Vance with the news. Vance could send people down to Quantico to talk to Jasinski.

# # #

Around 1 p.m. Urban brought Tony and Tim soup and sandwiches for lunch, with bottles of beer. Tony took advantage of this and took a quick swing at Urban's head with the beer bottle. Urban ducked, however, and drew his gun.

Tim, as much as he was in pain, tried to kick Urban away. Urban's shot was wild, and only succeeded in hitting Tony in the arm.

This brought Darrow running. "You idiot!" he said, and it wasn't clear who he was addressing. He ran off, and returned with bandages. Rolling up Tony's sleeve, he said, "At least it passed through cleanly. We only need to stop the bleeding."

"For now," Urban scowled. At Darrow's direction, he replaced Tony's beer with a plastic bottle of water.

At 3 p.m., both Tim and Tony awoke from their dozing when the door slammed. "Got all the equipment," they heard Moyers say. "But I couldn't find a newspaper. I tried five stores! All of today's papers all sold out."

Darrow swore, and stormed into the dining room. "Where are we going to find a newspaper in the sticks on Christmas Day? Go back and look some more. And don't come back without one!"

He entered the dining room, Urban and Moyers again in his wake. "I've decided," he said. "We don't need both of you. You with the baby face—you'll suit. You have that appealing look. Urban, get rid of the other one."

"Gladly," said Urban, as both Tim and Tony tensed. "All right, you. Payback time." He hauled Tony to his feet.

"_No!!"_ Tim protested, but Tony was led away. Tony made one backwards glance, meeting Tim's eyes. Tim would never forget it, his last look at his friend. Darrow left him alone with his tears.

# # #

Urban drove the van several miles into the forest. At one point he turned off onto a bumpy road, more like a trail, and so they went for awhile. Then he stopped the van, and opened the passenger door. "Get out," he ordered Tony.

Tony did so, and waited for the expected bullet. He'd already come to accept it. For the last several miles all he could think of, though, was McGee. Whatever they had planned for McGee, Tony hoped it would be a merciful end. _I'm the more experienced one, damn it,_ he thought. _I should have been able to figure out a way to save us…_

Then Urban slugged Tony on the head with the gun, and Tony dropped. Urban then unfastened the handcuffs, and took them back. "When you wake up, you'll have a nice walk ahead of you," he chortled to Tony's unconscious form. "Can you walk your way out of the forest to help? I really doubt it. I love the mental picture of you trying…and dying of exposure."

Laughing, he got back in the van and drove away.

# # #

Abby called Gibbs again. "The tire tracks belong to a Ford Duststorm, and on enlarging one of the prints, I saw something that might be a black paint chip. You've already said the NCIS car was silver. Can you find that paint chip and bring it to me?"

Gibbs looked out at the lightly-falling snow. "We'll find it." He directed Ziva to drive back to the abandoned house.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

# # #

When Tony came to, it took him a moment to figure out what had happened. _Well, just because I'm a city boy doesn't mean I can't do the wilderness survival thing. Better than McGee could, at any rate._

He started walking. His watch had a compass setting, though he wasn't sure how that would help him in the short run. In the long run, though, if he picked a direction and stuck with it…

_East,_ he decided. It was gloomy, and there would only be about an hour of daylight before the sun set. _I can certainly find help within an hour,_ he told himself cheerfully.

But when darkness fell and he still had not found a soul, he started to worry.

When at last his booted feet touched asphalt, he cheered. A road! Cars drove along roads. Someone would be along. And then he stopped to rest, feeling light-headed. His arm ached from his wound. He scraped some snow off a low tree limb and melted it in his mouth, then did so again and again. It was delightful, given the circumstances. Then he continued walking.

To keep his mind on a positive keel, he started singing Christmas songs—ones he could identify from movies. He started talking to himself, since there was no one around to tell him not to.

"'_Silver bells…silver bells…  
__Silver bells…silver bells…  
__It's Christmas time in the city…'_

_That's from _The Lemon Drop Kid_. Great Damon Runyan story, starring Bob Hope and Marilyn Maxwell…_

"'_Have yourself a merry little Christmas,  
__Let your heart be light;  
__From now on our troubles  
__Will be out of sight…_

…_Through the years  
We all will be together,  
If the Fates allow  
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.  
And have yourself A merry little Christmas now._

_Aw, that one always makes me sad. Judy Garland singing to little Margaret O'Brien in _Meet Me in St. Louis. _Garland's character, Esther, is trying to comfort her little sister, Tootie, while her own heart is breaking…_

The road took a sharp bend after awhile, and after a moment's thought, he left it. There had been no cars at all along it, and for all he knew, it was a park road that might have been closed due to the weather and the holiday. Certainly it didn't look like a plow had touched it. He continued heading east, through the forest.

"'_We can't afford a hen;  
__We will someday, I vow.  
__Da da da da da da…dang…  
__We'll have to get along somehow.  
__We'll have the Lord's bright blessing,  
__And knowing we're together…_

Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol. _Probie would bust a gut laughing to know that I know all the songs from that. But I love it."_

_If I can find a house, a gas station, a convenience store…some place with a phone…_

But all he found was miles and miles of forest. The sleet-mixed snow stung his face, and he started to feel cold. Very cold. After a while the snow tapered off and then stopped altogether, and the clouds broke to reveal the crescent moon riding high in the starry night.

"_And then there's that all-time favorite…_

'_I'm dreaming of a white Christmas:  
__Just like the ones I used to know…_

_That, my dears, is from not only _White Christmas, _(starring Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye) but also from _Holiday Inn,_ with Crosby and Fred Astaire, made 14 years earlier, though it doesn't get the airplay that _White Christmas_ does..._

If it wasn't for the soft light of the moon, he might not have noticed the old house.

With joy he bounded for it, although it looked dark and quiet. "Hello!" he called, and pulled on the door. But like the first house they'd been in, it too was long abandoned. The rotted door pulled open easily. Moonlight streamed through the windows, revealing a small, furniture-less cottage. "It's shelter," Tony said aloud. "I'll take it." Even though it wasn't heated, it would be protection against the wind.

Squinting in the dark, Tony thought he saw something light…_Yes!_ Newspapers. A small stack of them. He couldn't read the date in the dark, but didn't much care. They'd make a blanket to keep him warm. Come daybreak he'd start up again, but now he needed rest.

He was weary beyond belief, and feeling dizzy from his wound. _Sleep is all I need,_ he thought, not recognizing the potential danger of hypothermia.

Two bright little eyes glittered in the moonlight. "A mouse," Tony proclaimed, as he curled up in a corner, stuffing the newspapers around him. "Hello, mousie. Reminds me of the mice in Disney's _Cinderella_, though that wasn't a Christmas movie. They were so cute in their little clothes, Jacques and Gus-Gus…Jacques and Gus-Gus…" And with that, he drifted off to sleep.

# # #

The little gray mouse watched him from the edge of her mouse hole for awhile. Then she felt the change happening, just as she had the year before, and the year before that. She had known that this day was approaching; she could tell by the length of the days. Animals knew these things.

"Horace!" she called. "Are you there?"

"I'm here; I'm here. What are you shouting about, Muffy? Goodness sakes! I'm speaking human speak!" The larger mouse, brown in color, came out of his hole.

"It's that one night of the year," Muffy mouse said joyfully. "The night that all animals can speak like this. The legend is that it is a gift from a human king, for something special that happened on this day."

"Just another day, if you ask me."

"Oh, don't grumble so. It's a day when humans keep to themselves and don't bother us animals much, so there must be some good to it. Besides, we have a human here who needs our help." She pointed a paw at Tony, across the room.

"A human! Goodness sakes!"

"I sense the human is not well. I smell blood. Besides, this dwelling is too cold for a human. We must do something. Round up the others."

"But—"

"Go! Quickly!" Muffy was not above ordering others around when there was a need. She didn't feel this was the least bit unbecoming in a little mouse; her sense of what was Right assured her that this was what must be done.

Through the gap in the rotten door soon came many other creatures: Babbit Rabbit; Cornelius Crow; Mr. and Mrs. Beaver; Bitty Sparrow and her sisters, Flitty and Ditty; old Hiram Raccoon, Gaius Owl, and several other small birds and mice. "What did you call us here for, Muffy?" asked Cornelius, who was the natural leader, being perhaps the wisest. "Other than to say hello on this magical night?" Seeing the mice looking a little nervous, he added, "This is a night of truce among the animals. No one is to be eaten."

"We have a visiting human who needs our help," said Muffy, regaining her courage.

"A human! By my eggs! What help can we give a human?" asked Gaius.

"The human needs to be made warm. Humans don't have enough hair to survive in the winter outside their wooden caves. There is no heat in this one."

"Dear me," said Bitty. "Is it a girl human or a boy human?"

"I don't know," said Muffy, struggling to keep her temper. "I can't tell humans apart. They all look alike to me. What does it matter? We need to help it."

"Why should we?" asked Mr. Beaver. "Humans only cause trouble."

"Not all humans," said Flitty. "Many are kind and put out seeds for us, particularly at this time of year when it's hard to find food. I say we help the human."

"What; spend our night doing this?" Mrs. Beaver lamented.

"There is a precedent," said Horace, to Muffy's surprise. "Remember last year on this night we helped the duck who had become frozen in the pond. And three years ago we kept warm the fawn who had become separated from his mother. Such a cute little thing he was…"

"And he has never forgotten your kindness," said a deep voice. A tall stag appeared in the doorway. "I will help pay it back. If the desire of this group is to save the human's life, I will be a part of it."

"Thank you, Shiloh. And you, too, Horace," Muffy said, beaming. "Let's get to work."

"Humans use fire to keep warm," said Babbit, and the others shrank back.

"I fear fire, and I wouldn't know how to bring it here, even if I didn't fear it," said Cornelius. "Fire is not an option. All we can do, then, is cover the human so its body keeps its heat in."

Cornelius quickly assigned tasks, and the others scrambled.

Soon they started returning. The birds brought twigs and small branches, some still with leaves. There were also tall grasses, brought by Babbit. The mice carried small clumps of mud from underneath the house, where the ground wasn't entirely frozen. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, having given in, brought larger branches and mud from the not-frozen-over lake.

Cornelius and Gaius directed them all in weaving a thick cover of the materials, like the lining of a nest, and in draping it over Tony. Diligently the animals worked, making layer upon layer , covering him from his feet all the way up to his chin. They packed it tightly around him at the edges to keep the cold air out as much as possible.

Then they were done. But in a charitable sense, some of the animals continued giving. Shiloh the stag brought in apples that had never fallen from a tree. "The human will be hungry when it wakens, no doubt," he said, carefully laying the apples at Tony's feet.

Hiram brought in a carrot he'd been saving, and shyly gave it up. The birds found berries…lots of berries, and made a pile of them with the other foods. Babbit returned with a bunch of grass shoots.

"Do humans eat those?" Horace wondered.

"_I_ would," said Babbit. "They smell yummy to me!"

It was enough. Dawn would be coming in a few hours.

"Thank you all," said Muffy. "We did the right thing tonight, on this special night."

"You are a wiser little mouse than you know, Muffy," said Cornelius. He left with the others, and Muffy and Horace went back into their holes. The moon was down, and once more the old cottage was still.

"Of course I am wise," Muffy said to herself. "But it's nice to hear it spoken."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

# # #

It was Christmas Day. Though still very cold, at least the storm had passed and the sun was out. Early morning sunlight peeped through the windows of the cottage. And still, Tony did not awaken.

The sun rose higher (not that it cared to get far out of the South at this time of year), and still Tony did not awaken.

From a hole in the wall, a little gray mouse poked her wiggling nose out. If seen, one might have said that she appeared to be fretting.

She ducked back into her hole as voices came from outside. "Did anyone check this old place, Ken?"

Agent Ken Singleton checked his Blackberry. "Nope. Guess it's ours to investigate, Wendy," he said to his partner.

The door pushed open easily. "Hello! Federal agents!" Wendy Viljoen called. They went in, training their flashlights on the dark inside.

"Holy—!" exclaimed Singleton as his light fell on the figure in the corner. "DiNozzo!!"

"He's alive," Viljoen pronounced, finding a pulse, "though not by much." She immediately called for a medevac helicopter. "It's a wonder he didn't freeze to death! Nice little blanket he made for himself."

Singleton had grown up in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and knew nature well. The "blanket" was startling to him in its thoroughness. How could DiNozzo have made it himself? He gulped again on seeing animal tracks in the dust on the floor…mice were to be expected, but birds? Rabbits? Raccoons? Beavers? Even a stag?? This all went along with the tracks he had noticed, but ignored, in the snow outside.

And there was the matter of the apples, the carrot, the berries lined up before DiNozzo, like gifts…

Singleton had a conclusion, but he kept it to himself, lest his partner think he was nuts.

# # #

Gibbs and Ziva had remained at NCIS that morning. There seemed to be no further clues to be found until there was a break. The break came with a phone call around 8 a.m.

Gibbs sprinted up the stairs to Vance's office. Taking action beat the phone. "DiNozzo's been found," Gibbs said, bursting in without preamble. "Alive, but unconscious. Hypothermic. He's being airlifted to GW Hospital."

"McGee?" asked Vance.

Gibbs tamped down his excitement of the better news. "No sign of him."

Vance sighed. "Go be with DiNozzo, then. I'll call if there's any more news."

# # #

_DiNozzo's been found. He's alive!_

The news spread rapidly through the small force working at NCIS on Christmas Day. Abby cheered, and then cried. "They'll find Timmy next!" she said to Ducky and Jimmy. "I _know_ they will!"

# # #

Ziva was not so confident. "They separated," she said in the car as Gibbs drove to the hospital. "Why?"

"I'm the wrong person to ask," said Gibbs. "DiNozzo better have a good answer."

# # #

They waited while Tony was being examined and treated. A doctor told them about the gunshot wound and the subsequent blood loss that had weakened Tony. That, plus the head wounds from blunt traumas and the sub-freezing conditions in which he'd been found left him still unconscious.

"When will he wake up?" asked Ziva.

The doctor only shook his head. He didn't know.

An hour stretched by, then two. Gibbs left Ziva with Tony and went back to NCIS. There was still McGee to find…though the prospects for him looked bleaker by the moment.

Once again Gibbs conferred with his boss. "You know them better than I do," said Vance. "Why would they separate?"

"They wouldn't," Gibbs said bluntly. "DiNozzo wouldn't leave McGee behind, no matter what."

"Unless McGee was dead."

There. It had been spoken. Gibbs did not consider himself to be afraid of words, but those were ones he hadn't wanted to say. Even now, he could only nod. "When DiNozzo wakes up, he can tell us what happened. This case isn't over yet…Aren't you going to give me the lecture about retribution, Leon?"

"I'm too tired. Go recite it to yourself if it will make you happy."

Gibbs left without arguing. The pang in his heart was too great. _One dead, but one alive. I should count my blessings, but…_

# # #

Tim was roused by his captors around 8 a.m. He had been finding it harder to concentrate, feeling sluggish, and his chest pain had increased. _Must be bleeding inside._ With a wince he remembered that Tony was gone, and he felt ashamed for thinking of his own little troubles when Tony was dead. _Funny; I think he's one of the best friends I've ever had…_

"Get up, NCIS;" snarled Darrow, who hadn't cared to learn their names. "You're going to be an internet star."

"You sure that's today's paper? Does it say 'December 25' on it?" Urban asked Moyers.

"Yeah, I'm sure! See? I got it at a gas station about 20 miles from here. It was one of only three left, but it's today's."

Urban pulled Tim to his feet and shoved him into the living room, gesturing him to sit in an armchair. After nearly 40 hours of sitting on the floor, the deep cushioned chair was luxury. A camera on a tripod faced the chair, and it was connected to a laptop.

"All you've gotta do, NCIS, is read what's on the cue cards. We'll deliver the message to your bosses. See if they're willing to make a deal."

"NCIS doesn't make deals," Tim said before realizing maybe he should keep his mouth shut.

Urban studied one of the cue cards. "What's your name, copper?"

"What's in it for me?" Tim retorted.

"We might let you live a little longer. What's your name?"

Tim sighed. He'd guessed that they were going to send a ransom demand on the internet. Though he wouldn't live to see the results, it would be nice to send one last, good image of himself to his colleagues. "McGee. Timothy McGee," he said.

"Got it. Okay, when we give you the signal, just read what's on the cards. Don't improvise, or try to send a secret message. It won't do any good. They won't find you in time."

Moyers, working the equipment, did a count-down. "Three…two…one…now."

# # #

Abby was waiting for Gibbs in the squad room when he returned. She was fiddling with the lights flash setting on the Christmas tree. "Don't do that," he scolded lightly, coming up behind her.

"Oh! Nuts; my Gibbs-approacheth sense must only work in my lab," she said. "Give me something to do, Gibbs. You weren't able to find that paint fleck I asked for yesterday. I have nothing to go on. Tell me what I can do to be useful."

"Okay. Go to the hospital and spell Ziva. I might need her on a moment's notice."

"I'd _love_ to sit with Tony! Thank you, Gibbs!"

"Talk to him. We need to get him to wake up and tell us where McGee is."

"I will talk his ear off. He'll be lucky to get a word in edgewise…well, I guess I'll allow him that much. Call me if you hear anything!"

"I will. But Abbs, before you go—"

"Yes, oh _Jefe_?"

"Set the tree lights back to steady glow."

# # #

"Nothing yet?"

Ziva looked up from her seat at Tony's bedside. "Not yet. The doctor said it could be awhile…"

"McGee may not have that long," Abby frowned. "But he's a fighter. He's not a mellow pushover, like some people seem to think. My Timmy could fight a coliseum of warriors with one hand behind his back and not break a sweat. He's probably got the bad guys right about where he wants them, right now. Don't you think?"

Ziva forced her lips into a smile. Abby was coping as best as she could, even if this meant she was being far less than practical. "I hope you are right," Ziva said. "Gibbs wants me back at NCIS, I take it? Call us as soon as Tony wakes up."

"I will," said Abby, and took Ziva's chair as the agent went out.

Tony was breathing normally, though the bandages on his hand and his nose, where frostbite had set in, were the only signs that he wasn't just in a normal slumber.

Gently she took Tony's bandaged hand in hers. "Tony…you have to wake up and tell us where Tim is. We need your help, Tony. Please. Only you know what happened…"

He slept on.

Abby felt tears rise, and she pushed them away. She was becoming frustrated too soon, but she shouldn't blame Tony for that. They were lucky that he was alive.

"Gibbs said I should talk to you. Ha! Like I need to be told to talk, any time. What should I talk about…Well, first, you're probably wondering why I'm not in New Orleans. Blame the weather. My flight was canceled. And if you'd been smart, you'd be in Hawaii now, like you were talking about a few months ago. St. Moritz! Pfui!

"Would you like to hear about Christmas in New Orleans? Aside from the freak snowstorm two weeks ago, the weather is usually mild. I love it. And did you know, with no snow, Santa has to make alternate arrangements to deliver presents down on the bayou.

"There's a legend that goes with it. Only for you, Tony, and only under these special circumstances, will I do a fake Cajun accent. And if you tell anyone I did this, I _will_ make you suffer. For the rest of your life."

She took a deep breath.

"'_Twas the night before Christmas  
An' all t'ru de house  
Dey don't a t'ing pass  
Not even a mouse  
De chirren been nezzle  
Good snug on de flo'  
An' Mamm pass de pepper  
T'ru de crack on de do'…_

"…_Cuz dere on de by-you  
W'en I stretch ma' neck stiff  
Dere's eight alligator  
A pullin' de skiff.  
An' a little fat drover  
Wit' a long pole-ing stick  
I know r'at away  
Got to be ole St. Nick…"_

She finished the poem, and fell silent for a minute, looking for a reaction, any reaction from Tony. Tears came back to her when there was none. She wanted to scream. _Why won't he wake up?? _

Taking a tissue from her purse, she blew her nose…and almost missed the comment.

"Heh…eight alligators…"

"…Tony??"

"Jacques and Gus-Gus. You're a cute mousie. Just be a mousie. I don't like rats."

"Tony! Wake up!!"

His eyes opened then. "Abbs?"

She stopped herself from hugging him, or even squeezing his injured hand. "Tony…Oh, Tony…"

"I'm alive. Man." It was his turn to cry. "McGee…"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

# # #

"That's all he could tell us? That he and McGee were being held in a country house somewhere in the woods?" Gibbs frowned as he spoke on his phone.

"_That's it, Gibbs. Darrow and his cronies had some plans, and they picked McGee for it, and rejected Tony. Urban dropped Tony some ways away, he believes in hopes that he'd die of exposure. Sadistic bastard. So when Tony left him, McGee was still alive, though he'd been beaten pretty badly."_

"Okay; thanks, Abbs." For the first time in two days there was hope. Not that it narrowed down the search any.

# # #

Moyers studied the playback of the vid he'd shot. He tinkered with it a little more…he'd spent an hour editing it…and pronounced it ready to go.

"Where is this place we're going to?" asked Urban.

"I found a coffee shop that's open today until noon that has free wifi," said Moyers. "That'll be good enough for us to upload this, most likely. But it's the _only_ place I found that's open on Christmas."

"How far away is it?"

"It's in Lanaberg, about 40-50 miles from here."

"Well, if it closes at noon, we'd better get moving."

"What about him?" Urban jerked a thumb at Tim. "Time to get rid of him?"

"Not until we know that the upload to the net is successful," said Moyers, surprisingly forcefully.

"Good point," said Darrow. "Lock him back up, Urban."

With Tim once again handcuffed to furniture in the dining room, the three men departed. They would probably be gone about three hours.

After the first hour, Tim started to feel chilly. He realized that the fires in the fireplaces had gone out. In their haste to get on the road, the captors had forgotten to check the fires on their way out.

The chilling house made him lethargic, and worried. Moyers seemed to have tech skills; he'd probably succeed in getting his vid uploaded the first time. Then the men would return to the house, and have no more use of Tim…

Clouds rolled in, dimming the sun. Tim found his mind wandering in loose anxiety, knowing that the end was nearing.

He wasn't one to put his religious faith on display; it was a personal matter for him and his family. But the songs of Christmas…the serious ones…always touched him, and gave him comfort. In his mind, he ran over several of them, and he sang softly.

"_Mother her vigil is keeping  
Hush, little babe, to her song;  
Rest thee secure in thy sleeping,  
Grow thee more stately and strong…_

_#_

"_There are angels hov'ring 'round;  
__There are angels hov'ring 'round;  
__There are angels, angels, hov'ring 'round…_

_#_

"_While angels watched their flocks by night, flocks by night;  
__All seated on the ground…_

_#_

"_Det kimer nu til julefest,  
__Det kimer for den høje gaest,  
__Som steg til leva hytter ned  
__Med nystårsgaver: fryd og fred…_

_#_

"_In the bleak midwinter, frost wind made moan.  
__Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone…_

He paused as a tremor shook his body. Maybe it didn't matter if the thugs came back to kill him. He might be dead before then.

There was so much he'd done in his life; so many accomplishments. And so much he'd left undone. He'd wanted to find a nice girl and get married, and have a couple of kids. He'd wanted to move from his apartment into a house with a yard (the wife better be someone who makes a good salary). He'd wanted to grow old in this job, and rise in the ranks. Maybe someday be Director.

He'd wanted to be home for Christmas with his parents and sister, just as he had been on every other Christmas since he was born. He wished he could see them one last time. There was always so much left unsaid.

Time wore on, and still Darrow's crew did not return. Tim started to get nervous. What if they decided to leave him here to starve to death?

# # #

Shortly before noon, Vance called Gibbs on the landline. "Get up to MTAC—now. Bring Ziva. And Abby."

"_Abby's at the hospital, with Tony."_

"Blast. We're going to need her here. I'll call her back shortly. But come on up."

In darkened MTAC, as Gibbs and Ziva came in, they saw what looked like a YouTube spaceholder on a large plasma screen. "This just came in to the NCIS email box," Vance said grimly. He signaled to an analyst who pressed the play button.

They jumped as Tim's voice boomed out, and a slightly fuzzy picture played. Tim sat in an armchair in what looked like nice surroundings. He was holding up a newspaper, and the camera zoomed in on it. The date was unmistakably December 25, and someone said she recognized the _Washington Post_ front page for that day.

Gibbs grimaced at the look of Tim. His face was bruised and he appeared to be in pain. _"This is Timothy McGee. I am being held against my will, but I have been treated well,"_ Tim intoned. _"In exchange for my continued safety, NCIS is to arrange the release of Roy Jasinski from Quantico…"_

Vance swore, but Gibbs only shrugged. "At least he was alive at the time this was made," he said when the clip had ended.

"Then we still have a chance to save him."

"Are you going to respond to them?"

"Soon. Let them fret a bit. I'll then give them the usual bumf. Find that house, Gibbs. Get Abby back here; have her analyze the tape."

# # #

Abby was soon pulling apart the vid, with Jimmy's help, while Ducky went to visit Tony. "Gibbs, this is going to take time. The picture quality isn't good. I'm not sure any of the knickknacks in the background are personally identifiable."

"Try, Abby."

"I will," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Timmy is out there, somewhere…"

# # #

Around 2 p.m., as Gibbs was sitting down with a dreaded cup of vending machine coffee (the M Street Café being closed for Christmas), his phone rang.

"_Agent Gibbs? This is Deputy John Ingalls with the Lanaberg, VA Police. Noticed you had a BOLO out on guys named Darrow and Urban. We stopped them for running a stop sign. Got 'em in custody."_

"Give me directions…we're coming out there. Anyone else with them?"

"_Yeah, a third youngster. His Navy ID says his name is Moyers."_

"Okay. See you shortly." He nodded to Ziva, and they both got up. Then his phone rang again.

"_Hi, Agent Gibbs? Lt. Sally Janda of the Virginia state police. Saw your BOLO. We just got a call from the SafestKingdom Alert company…one of those firms that monitors houses electronically when the owner's away, you know? There's an unexpected tic in a country home owned by snowbirds; a retired Navy man and his wife, in fact. We were going to go out and investigate, but since your BOLO involves home invaders, we thought you might want to meet us there."_

"I do," said Gibbs, feeling relief that things were at last coming together. He directed another team to go to Lanaberg to take Darrow's group into custody. He and Ziva would be going to the country estate. If that's where McGee had been held…

- - - - -

The house looked beautiful from the outside; weathered wood immaculately maintained; the design a pleasing shape. Lt. Janda spoke to Gibbs and Ziva at the end of the driveway. "If Lanaberg has your suspects in custody, it's probably safe…"

"…unless they left someone behind," said Gibbs. "They've kidnapped one of my men, and are holding him for ransom. I believe he's in there. Tell me about the home security system."

"Well, a number of people in this area use SafestKingdom Alert. In a case like this, people away for months at a time, it monitors certain changes in the house. Like abnormal changes in temperature that might indicate a broken window. Of course there's the usual alarm wires at the doors and windows, though sadly, a really clever, tech-minded crook can get around those. That's while the other systems monitors are relied on."

"What tipped them off about this house? The lights?"

"No, the homeowner has to keep the electric service running to power the alarm system. Here, it was water use. Someone turned the water back on. Probably to use the bathroom. Crooks rarely think of that."

# # #

The door lock was easily picked. Gibbs took the front entrance with Janda, while Ziva and two of Janda's men took the back door. "Federal agents!" Gibbs called. "State police!" called Janda.

A voice, more like a croak, came from another room. "Clear!" Janda called as she moved through the living room and left it for a bedroom. Gibbs turned to the right, into the dining room…

"Boss…"

Gibbs holstered his gun, grinning from ear to ear. "McGee."

"I thought I'd been abandoned here. They all left hours ago, all three of them, and didn't come back. Damn; I'm whining. Boss, Tony. They…" He broke into sobs and was unable to continue.

"We found him. He's in the hospital, but he's going to be fine." Gibbs carefully unfastened the handcuffs that held Tim prisoner. He wasn't sure how badly Tim was hurt but he didn't want to take any chances.

"The house is clear," said Janda, coming in. "This your missing agent? Well, good. I like happy endings."

Gibbs only smiled, fearing that if he said anything, he would tip over into mushyness.

Ziva came in and ran to Tim's side, giving him a gentle hug. "We had no new cases these last two days," she scolded him lightly. "Just you and Tony. And you made us bushel cases."

"'Basket cases'," Tim corrected, smiling.

"Are you certain? Is not a bushel bigger than a basket?"

Janda called for a medevac helicopter, and Gibbs called Ducky at the hospital.

# # #

"Dear me," said Ducky, and that was all he could say. He dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief and handed his phone to Tony.

"Boss? That you?" Tony said.

"_I like the sound of that. You can call me 'boss' anytime."_

"Probie??? Probie, is that really you???" Tony whooped and almost leaped out of the bed.

"_In the flesh. Man, Tony. When they took you away, I thought…"_

"Yea, me too. You okay?"

"_No worse than when you saw me, but I'll be on my way to GW Hospital shortly, I guess."_

"That's great…" Tony was still grinning. "Got a bed right here next to mine. Promise me you won't snore. And, by the way… Merry Christmas, Probie."

"_Merry Christmas, Tony."_

- THE END-


End file.
